All U See
by Coffin Liqueur
Summary: One-shot. Julie gets the impression she has a different perception of Frank than he does, and never has she even thought to question which one of theirs is right, whether she should or not.


There was something Julie had said to Frank.

_ Once. _ There was something she'd said to Frank once. _ Once upon a time. _

It _ was _ that far back, wasn't it - it was odd; just about everything in her memory, at this point, felt like it'd happened over the course of one neverending, sleepless week under gray skies that rolled into white, into gray, out to black and dots of stars, on into gray again. Right with a tide of fog.

She'd said it at the _ start _ of this. It wasn't part of some old story; it was still a part of _ now_.

She'd said it when they were still just strangers, more or less, before all the cold and the fog set in. New friends. It had been in her parents' house; she'd led him into the kitchen to grab a few more beers, for herself, and him, and Sue, and Joey. It had been an excuse, for both of them, to have a moment to divert their paths into a little circle around each other, behind the counter. Their eyes were locked; they sized each other up with smiles, orbited closer and closer together till they were close enough to reach out and touch each other, effort-free.

Then she'd lifted her hands - not closing that space, but putting forth the _ intent _. His mouth had given a little twist. He'd swung one small, slow step closer her way. Then another.

Each of them doing their part until her hands finally made contact - setting on his chest, sweeping her fingers aside under the lapels of his jacket. It was only casually a flirt; there was nobody she'd ever met who gave off _ less _ of that _ trembling shy _ kind of vibe than him. She'd began to sway her spine, subtly, like a snake, eyes still locked on his. It was out of step with the music bumping beats in ripples to 'em through the doorway behind them. An invitation to someone to join you in a song you'll make up hearing on your own, just the two of you.

He took it; slight not-quite-steps with her. Gave her a little smirk to call her bluff, ask her straight-up what she wanted to say.

("_'Ey, you guys go get a ROOM! _" Joey had whooped on from the living room. She'd heard it distinctly enough to remember it a little; no more than that.)

And then there she'd gone. Gone on and said it.

"You know... In spite of all the tough guy stuff, you've got a lot of love to give."

She'd said that a little like a flirt, too - with that little cigarette-cherry-red burn muted in the back of the throat, singeing edges to fray in the texture of a purr. It was an easy tone to take when you're using the word "love". She even used it with Susie sometimes, cheekily - _ "ooh, ooh, you know you love it" _.

But no - she hadn't meant it that way. She'd meant it as nothing more or less than an observational statement.

And she could tell that _ he'd _ been able to tell. He'd let out a single whiffing breathing noise - looked aside, with a small twist and tug in his face like he was giving some token response to a joke.

He didn't _ give _ token responses to jokes. Frank didn't know the meaning of feeling of social obligation, or courtesy "for courtesy's sake". If a joke or a story was funny, he laughed. May even give a quick clap, if someone needed the encouragement - he was like that with Joey. If it wasn't, he scoffed. Then he one-upped 'em. He had a gift for being clever, and cruel, and fun. There was no better kinda guy to take a wiseguy down a couple pegs with the mood held up on rising screams into applause.

This, though, he'd taken with a look that she could only really peg as _ pff, come on, Mom, you're embarrassing me. _

She knew that, too, was a response that he never gave. To anything. Not seeing as even by then, she'd known pretty damn well that he had never had a mom, in any way that made one bit of difference to him. No family at all.

Even the people who'd seemed like they could have been, sometime down the line, he'd been shipped back on the move away from before they could ever learn how to be. Or before he could ever learn how to let 'em. She didn't know.

Her eyebrows had knit a little; her smile had twisted askew a little. Out on a bubble of an itty-bitty laugh, she'd said, "What - you don't believe me?"

Her voice had ridden up toward the end - depressurizing and popping up to a tone like a little girl's. Full of insistent, faintly-flustered confusion far more sincere than she'd intended.

"_Ohhhhhh_," he'd responded, low and thick. Tension in his face smoothing over, eyes half-lidded. _ Ohhhhhh, you. _

"What?" She'd pulled her head back a little bit, mouth shutting in a smile with neat little show of teeth behind that second little round and bounce of laughter.

He'd just repeated. _"Ohhhhhhh...!"_ Smiling bigger, pinning into his eyes. _Ohhhhhh, nice one. That's good._ _Cheeky-cheeky...!_

And he'd slid his hands up the sides of her hips to slip his thumbs into her beltloops. He'd leaned down, a little.

Her face had fallen a tad with some sorta recognition - he was changing the subject. Laughing it off. Moving the goalposts.

Sure enough, she'd felt her cue to tamp that melancholy down in that little darkening and miniscule rush of air as he'd leaned down - her face had blanked with the barest tension to keep it there. Otherwise, quiet and comprehensively reflective as he'd come in for a kiss.

"Was that some a' that love right there?" he'd asked after it had connected. It sure had felt like it was, at the time. Maybe it had just been an extension of the way that everything about Frank had always felt like standing at the threshold of _ More. _

She'd taken it as maybe his one soft spot at the time. The one spot his proverbial bulletproof vest didn't cover. He hadn't believed her, or at the very least, he hadn't known if he could believe it. He still didn't believe it.

And she still did.


End file.
